* * * *
Skeeter waited. The moon was sliding down behind the mountain. It was late and the women hadn’t come. He lit another smoke. He was far from a perfectionist in life, but he was exacting about time. His Granny McCabe had taught him young that there was a right time for everything, planting, harvesting—all of it. Damn women! He should never have agreed. Actually, Granny was in back of it all. She was Juanita’s granny, too. So when Juanita asked him for help, it was hard to say no. Yawning, Skeeter reached for the pint bottle of Jim Beam he kept in the glove compartment. Damn women! Where the hell were they?
When he finally saw the headlights, Skeeter eased his tall, lean frame out of the pickup and soundlessly moved into the woods at the side of the dirt road.
As soon as the black Bronco jolted to a stop, Juanita and Dixie jumped out and shouted, “Skeeter! Where the hell are you, Skeeter.”
Skeeter watched the four women drag out two heavy crates. Hunting rifles, shotguns and pistols were passed from hand to hand. They were whooping and laughing like crazy. Shit! He was tempted to take off.
“Skeeter, get your lazy ass out here.” Juanita’s deep voice carried into the woods.
“C’mon, Skeeter, we got a little present for you,” Dixie drawled.
Well, what the hell. Skeeter sighed and stepped out onto the road. “Never know who will show up this time of night, ladies. A man can’t be too careful.” He grinned at them and at the crates of guns. “After all, you was late—given up on you.” Skeeter hunkered down and examined the stacked weapons. Turning them over in his hands, he couldn’t believe that these women had really pulled this off. But he said, “Take a lot of work filing off these serial numbers. Haveta take care. Risky peddling this stuff.” He looked at the women narrowly. “You say you picked these up down in Virginia? Just how hot are they?”
“Cut the crap, Skeeter. Charlene here has two boys to feed. The money’s rightfully hers anyway.” Juanita advanced on him.
“See what I can do,” Skeeter mumbled as he started loading the crates into his truck. He’d agreed easily for two reasons. First, he’d liked the way Charlene looked, and second, the Browning at the bottom of the crate would be worth a small fortune to a collector. He could chuck most of the other stuff in the river—much less risky that way. Filing off serial numbers—shit! He started up the pickup and headed toward town. Yeah, that Charlene was a fine-looking woman—long hair, small waist in them tight jeans, good butt. Yeah!
* * * *
Over the next week, Charlene thought from time to time about Skeeter and the guns. She hadn’t heard a word from him. She’d found work as a temporary secretary in Winchester, but by the time she put gas in the car and paid the sitter, she had little money left.
Now she was picking bush beans in Juanita’s garden. The day was hot and she was sweating. Straightening up at the end of the row, she came face to face with Skeeter. Startled, she stared at him. How had he snuck up on her like that? It was unnerving.
Grinning, he handed her a roll of bills. “Hope this will keep the wolf away.” He watched her steadily. “Got something else for you out in the truck.”
Skeeter left as silently as he had come. Charlene stared at the wad of one hundred dollar bills. She was still in the same spot when Skeeter reappeared, bringing a string of good-sized perch. She watched his long, easy strides as he approached. She smiled, trying to overcome the uneasiness he caused her.
He shot her a cocky grin. “Think we can talk Juanita into throwing these here beauties in the frying pan? I’m starving.” Skeeter continued to smile at her.
Charlene, still carrying the bucket of beans, found herself following along behind him. “Wait! Skeeter, there must be over three thousand dollars here. Thank you.”
“Yeah, a little over three. Pleasure doing business with you.”
“This is a Godsend. I was almost broke. What do I owe you?”
“Owe me?” Skeeter turned and his grin broadened. “Nothing, really. I was glad to help out. Hard times ain’t no fun. And you’re the type woman who oughta be having a little fun outta life.”
Skeeter neglected to mention that his cut had been more. He needed it. You couldn’t impress a new woman without cash in your pocket.
Charlene’s eyes followed the swaying line of fish. She found herself staring at Skeeter’s narrow hips and the rippling movement of his thighs through the faded jeans. What was wrong with her? She knew the man was no damn good, no matter what effect he had on her.
In the kitchen, Dixie, Sylvia and Juanita were cold-packing beans and putting them in the canner. The countertops were lined with bottles of green beans.
“Well, if it ain’t Skeeter,” Juanita said. “Come in and give us a hand with the beans.”
Skeeter set the fish in the sink, then pulled a bottle of Jim Beam from his jacket pocket. “Brought ya a gift, ladies.”
“Mighty generous, Skeeter. Don’t recall ya being all that generous in the past. What’s changed?” Juanita eyed him closely.
“Can’t a man have a ‘giving heart’?”
“Gifts are welcome any time, honey. Can you stay while I fry up them fish?”
He winked at Charlene and sat down at the table.
* * * *
Skeeter took off right after dinner, saying he had business to attend to. The women still sat around the table finishing off the bottle of Jim Beam. They were mixing it with Coke.
“What’s this ’bout tending to business? Ever since I’ve known the man, he ain’t even had a job.” Dixie swirled the drink around in her glass and shot Charlene a sidelong glance. “Skeeter ain’t a bad guy, but he hits on anything soft and sweet. I useta hang around with him.” She smiled knowingly.
“Shut up, Dixie.” Juanita stood up, towering over the table. “Who ain’t you hung around with?” Her large bulk was threatening. “And I don’t know about soft, but you ain’t never been sweet. They’ll be no more of them type remarks.”
Charlene’s face reddened. “Skeeter just handed me a wad of cash for the guns. I was in a bind.” She pushed away from the table and stood up. “I’ve gotta check on the boys,” she said and hurried into the next room where they were asleep on the couch. Let Dixie tease her, she thought. The man meant nothing to her.
Charlene was just about to re-enter the kitchen when she heard Juanita’s deep voice. “What’s the matter with you, Dixie? That girl’s got it hard enough. We gotta stick together.”
“Yeah, you’re right. But face it, Juanita, even though Skeeter’s your cousin, he ain’t no good. Never was.”
“Well, I ain’t defending the boy. I gotta tell Charlene that tight buns and bedroom eyes ain’t all there is. But she won’t listen.”
Rapping at the porch door kept Charlene in the hall. She heard Juanita call out a greeting and a man’s voice reply, “Evening, Ladies. I’m afraid this is another official type call.”
“Sit down, Sheriff. Have a little drink. We’re mixing Jim Beam and Coke.”
“Some other time, ladies. I’ve come to see Charlene. Her aunt said I’d find her here.”
Charlene fought down the panic. She couldn’t run, so she’d have to brazen it out. Just like the other women had told her—Bert would suspect her, but he’d have no proof. She entered the kitchen.
“Evening, Charlene. How’ve you been?”
Jim Minns looked friendly enough, although Charlene was surprised that he’d gotten heavier and was balding. She remembered that he’d been a friend of her father’s.
“Fine, Sheriff. You wanted to see me?” She tried to keep her voice steady.
“There’s been a little trouble down at Bert’s. Has he called you?”
“No, I haven’t heard from him in months.”
“Seems his gun collection has been stolen. He’s hopping mad,” Jim Minns said.
“The whole collection’s gone?” Charlene began to feel sick.
Jim nodded. “So he says. Where were you last Wednesday?”
/>
“She was here with us,” Dixie’s voice cut in.
“Is that right, Charlene?” the sheriff asked.
“That’s right, Jim,” Juanita said. “We were all together.”
“Charlene?” The sheriff’s voice was firm.
Looking at the strength in the women’s faces, Charlene found her own. “Yes, we were all together,” she said.
Minns looked relieved. “I remember Bert was a hotheaded kid who caused trouble in high school. I was surprised you stayed with him as long as you did. Now he has some crazy notion you could have been involved.”
“Sheriff,” Charlene said, “I weigh 120 pounds. How could I have toted off all those guns?” She smiled shyly. “Bert owes me sixteen months in back child support. Is there anything you can do to help me?”
“It’s complicated now he’s down in Virginia, but I’ll see what I can do. Sorry to have bothered you.” As Jim Minns turned to leave, he hesitated, picked up the jar of sand on the table and examined it. “One night I’ll invite you pretty ladies for a drink,” he said as he left.
The women sat in stunned silence. Finally Dixie said, “Whataya think? Is he on to us?”
“It’s hard to tell with Jim,” Juanita looked serious. “Just don’t spend none of that money too quick, Charlene.”
* * * *
A week later Charlene had not been arrested, so she began to relax a little. When she arrived at Juanita’s, the women were sitting around the picnic table. “Come on in, Charlene,” Juanita called. “Sylvia just dragged in a box of bargains from her yard sale.”
“I sat out on my lawn all day and hardly sold a thing.” Sylvia scattered a few tie-dyed scarfs on the table. “Here, take anything you want. I pawned my camera last week, so I’ve still got a few bucks.”
“Money that tight?” Juanita asked.
“I’d be doing O.K. if it weren’t for that puffed up little bastard, Lloyd. Now he’s threatening me with a collection agency. There ought to be something I can do.”
Charlene opened the bottle of wine she’d brought and handed Sylvia a cup. “There is something you can do. Lloyd needs to suffer the way you are suffering.”
The women nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s the truth,” Dixie said.
“This is just an idea, but I have a friend who works at a medical lab in D.C. Her husband ran off with an eighteen-year-old stripper and she might be mad enough to help us.” Charlene offered.
“Medical lab, eh?” A slow grin spread over Juanita’s face. “And you say Lloyd has got hisself a new honey?”
“That redheaded bimbo, Brenda—twenty-two years old.” Sylvia smiled. “The girl’s not too smart, but smart enough to steer away from certain medical conditions!” She pounded the flat of her palm down on the table. “You’ve got it, Juanita. You’re a genius. The only question is just how serious old Lloyd’s condition should be—syphilis, gonorrhea, herpes 2, what?”
“What about the redhead?” Dixie cut in. “Don’t she deserve no notification? God knows what she could have by now.”
“Wait a minute,” Juanita’s deep voice warned. “This is risky. Are you sure your friend at the lab will do it?”
Charlene nodded. “She’s an ace with computers, smart enough to pull this off and never even be suspected. When she hears this story, she’ll do it, but we’d need to know when Lloyd had his last physical exam.”
“That’s easy,” Sylvia said. “He boasted that Doc Burns checked him out every year on his birthday and told him he was in great shape and could keep on smoking. No problem.”
“When’s his birthday?” Charlene asked.
“It’s some time at the end of May. When I was seeing him last year, the old fart expected a ‘special present.’ Ha!” Dixie grinned. “It’s on public record. We’ll get the date.”
Sylvia still looked skeptical. “Remember, ol’ Lloyd’s a lawyer. He isn’t just gonna roll over with this.”
Juanita laughed out loud. “C’mon, Lloyd may be a lawyer, but he’s still a man. There’re some things he won’t want the world to know.” She grabbed the jar of sand from the table. “Don’t worry, this is just the beginning, girls. By the time we’re done with Lloyd, he’ll be begging for mercy.”
“Yeah,” Charlene said, “he’ll be begging for mercy.”
“Begging for mercy,” Dixie shouted.
“Begging for mercy,” Sylvia shouted.
Juanita held the jar up high and nodded to the others. “He’ll be begging for mercy, but we ain’t got no mercy!”
* * * *
Lloyd Watson couldn’t believe his eyes. Had there been a storm last night? He would certainly have remembered a storm severe enough to bring that tremendous limb down on the roof of his new Jeep Cherokee. A huge dent now creased the shiny red finish. He wondered if he’d be able to open the door on the driver’s side. His neighbor had seen an old black Bronco in the neighborhood yesterday evening. Sylvia? He shuddered. He should have never gotten mixed up with that woman.
Just as the tow truck left with the Jeep, the phone rang. The high, demanding voice of his ex-wife shrilled, “Where the hell’s my check, Lloyd? According to that financial report I received on you, you can afford to pay me twice as much, you bastard!”
“Report,” Lloyd gurgled. “What report?”
“How the hell should I know where it came from; but I’m telling my lawyer to file for a new alimony hearing. Unlike you, I have to pay a lawyer now, you asshole.” Her breathing sounded ragged and shallow. “To think, you’ve been sending me this pittance all these years. They’ll be hell to pay, asshole!”
Lloyd dropped the phone, put his head in his hands and wept. How could all this be happening to him? HIM?
Later that day, Lloyd got a ride to town with his neighbor, old Mrs. Nesbitt. He had to sit in the back amidst piles of old newspapers and smelly re-cycling. Missy and Mister Fussy, the two miniature poodles, took up the front seat. He didn’t reach his office until almost noon.
* * * *
Sitting at his desk reading mail, Lloyd held up an envelope and studied it. Marked “Personal,” the letter was from Sylvan Medical Laboratory in Washington, D.C. He opened it and started reading: ‘In reference to your last physical examination, the following tests…’
“Oh, my God!” Lloyd shouted and looked down at his lap in horror. Then he reached into a desk drawer, pulled out a whiskey bottle and took a couple of gulps.
Persistent tapping on the door finally got his attention. Dixie, wearing short shorts, a halter top, and high-wedged heels, moved toward him.
“Lloyd, I see you got the same notification. Half the ladies in the county may need to checked out, eh?” She waved a letter at him.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here as a friend. I guess your new redheaded playmate should know about this.”
“Brenda?” Lloyd sighed. “She’s left me. In fact, she’s left town. I had wondered why.”
Dixie reached into her handbag and took out a small jar. “You ain’t asked, but even though you and me were friendly in the past, I feel just fine. I’ve already used Granny’s cure.”
“There’s a cure that doesn’t involve doctors and clinics?”
“I got it right here.” Dixie handed him the jar. “It’s a mixture of tar and ginseng—works like a charm.”
“How exactly does it work?”
“You don’t drink it, honey. It’s an ointment.” Dixie smiled encouragingly. “Of course, you’ll get a little rash.”
“Oh, my God!” Again, Lloyd’s eyes slid toward his lap.
“And sometimes you get a little itch, but it’s a small price to pay,” Dixie said as she turned to leave.
Lloyd sat with his head in his hands. He had been a happy man until now. His frank, open smile had convinced judge and jury alike of his absolute honesty and the innocence of his clients. This run of rotten luck could be bad for business. What if people on the street started looking at him funny? Wh
at if the whole damn town found out? What about Mother?
* * * *
The girls were blanching and skinning a bushel of tomatoes and Juanita was cold-packing them. “I saw ol’ Lloyd in town the other day. He looked terrible,” Juanita said. “No more ‘Mister handsome big shot’.”
“Well, he still looks too good. He’s got himself a new girlfriend and I still have to pay his outrageous bill,” Sylvia said.
“A new woman—already? Must be from outta town.” Dixie placed more full bottles in the canner.
“Yeah, she’s not local,” Juanita said. “I seen him with her at the Food Lion—buying artichoke hearts. She was tall, skinny and snooty.”
“She’s a lawyer from D.C. named Melissa Thomas.” Watching the faces turned toward her, Sylvia colored. “Well, I still hear things. He’s known her for a couple of weeks. About this time he’ll invite her out for a day on his new speed boat—cruising the river with an ice chest full of French wine and imported cheese.”
“Cruising,” Dixie said slowly. “What if ol’ Lloyd had a few problems on the water? What would that snazzy D.C. lawyer think of him then, huh?”
“She’d probably think he’s as much of an ass as I think he is,” Sylvia said. “All we have to do is wait until her car shows up at his place on a Friday night. The cruise will be on for the next day and I know his favorite picnic spot.”
* * * *
“If my boat goes, I go,” Skeeter said. “That’s all there is to it.”
“You mean you don’t trust us none,” Dixie taunted.
“Damn right! You’re the craziest bunch of females I ever had to deal with.” He started walking toward his truck.
“Oh, c’mon, Skeeter.” Juanita started after him. “You done known me all your life.”
“Yeah, well you’ve changed.” Hands on his hips, he stood looking at them.
“You’re right,” Charlene said. “How many can fit in the boat?” She was determined to be one of the boat crew with Skeeter.
“No more ’n three, and that there is pushing it. What the hell are you women up to this time?”
“It’s for Sylvia. She’s got a little problem,” Dixie drawled.
Wicked Women and Other Stories Page 2